


Rose Tinted

by Arkada



Series: Showing Off [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Graphic depictions of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Hair Braiding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moments of angst, Norse poetry, Oral Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, hand kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkada/pseuds/Arkada
Summary: Tony and Loki are both skilled fighters, but they have other talents that are equally worthy of appreciation.It’s a lovely day in New Asgard, and Tony is a brilliant pianist.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Showing Off [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583200
Comments: 72
Kudos: 405





	Rose Tinted

**Author's Note:**

> I am running out of amusing disclaimers.

Tony is, of course, aware that his tour through New Asgard is being followed by a gaggle of excited Asgardian children, hovering at his heels and whispering intensely to each other. Technically Tony’s on the clock, so he’s trying not to pay them too much attention, but he has worked out that they’re thrilled to see him and fascinated by everything he does. And while they’re probably technically older than him, they’re also six different kinds of adorable.

He’s here by royal invitation from Thor - not Loki, and Tony’s not disappointed by that even a little bit - to help out with putting up some amenities for the settlement, now that the essentials are established. Or as Thor put it, ‘ _show up and make things better, as you do, my friend._ ’ So Tony’s just having a wander, for starters, and seeing where there’s room to _make things better_. So far he’s spotted some good prospects for setting up renewable energy platforms; even Tony’s solar panels won’t be terribly efficient at this latitude, but they’re far better than nothing, and the coastline looks perfect for tidal and wave generation.

Tony turns a corner to head back to a building that looked good for housing a battery to store all this energy; his miniature entourage follows. He overhears a busy little conference interspersed with lots of giggling, and then one of them sneaks up and tugs on his shirt.

“You know, most people would think it’s smart not to assault the guy with diplomatic immunity,” Tony announces, turning to face them and pretending to look mad. “What do you want, you little brats?”

The full cohort of seven kids grins back up at him, completely unabashed. One of them is literally carrying a toddler, probably babysitting a younger sibling. They start nudging each other - _you ask him, no you ask him_ \- before a girl with her hair in two frizzy braids speaks up. “Will you play the human instruments for us?”

“Will I play - the what?”

She blinks innocently at him, wide-eyed. “You _are_ King Thor’s friend, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yes, but-”

Two of the kids grab Tony’s hands and start tugging him along. “This way!”

He pretty much has no choice, unless he wants to punt them into the nearest fjord, so he goes. The kids navigate their new home like they’ve lived here all their lives, happily dragging him down side alleys and through various gardens until they arrive at one of the larger buildings. Most of the town copies the local Norwegian architecture, but this building is much more Asgardian in design: warm stone and timber, decorative carvings and gold leaf everywhere, brightly colored banners hanging on either side of the door.

The kids pull him inside into a large, open hall, filled with chairs and benches and tables, but plenty of clear space too. It’s obviously a communal area, with strong Viking feast hall vibes, and Tony estimates the whole town could probably fit in here if they wanted to.

“Over here!”

They weave across the floor until they end up standing in front of an array of musical instruments - several obviously Asgardian, beautiful, elaborate pieces that Tony wouldn’t have the first clue how to make work, but mixed in with those are things he does recognize: a flute, a harp, a Chinese violin, and right at the back…

How did they get an _entire grand piano_ out here?

“King Thor says that we must never forget our own ways, but that we must also learn the ways of our hosts,” says a girl, as if reciting a lesson. Her face falls a little. “But we’re not very good at them.”

“Will you play them?” asks another kid, the one carrying the toddler. “Please?”

They all chorus _Please!_ in unison, and Tony stares.

He hasn’t touched a piano since…

“I’ve got bad news for you, kids,” he says, and they all stare up at him, suddenly worried. “I don’t know how to play any of these instruments…”

He stabs a finger at the piano. “Except for that one.”

They cheer, and run straight to the piano, dodging the other instruments easily. Tony follows more slowly, both because he doesn’t want to break anything and because he can’t believe he’s about to do this. Mechanically, he puts the lid up and stares at the strings. Old habits are telling him to make sure the thing is tuned first, but he doubts the kids are quite _that_ patient.

Slowly, he sits on the bench and lifts the cover over the keys, brushing his fingers over their smooth surfaces. Hours and hours of lessons at his mother’s side pour through his head - the stickers on the keys to teach him which note was which, sitting together over the sheet music and sounding the notation out before trying it for real, her smile when he played the piece as well as she did… Tony looks up, blinking away the beginnings of tears, and finds himself surrounded by a captive audience, all eagerly waiting on him to start playing.

Maria Stark always did love children.

He clears his throat and cracks his knuckles. “Okay, _bambini_ , who knows what this thing is called?”

“A piano!”

“Well, sounds like you already know everything I have to teach! My work here is done-”

" _No!_ " they all shout, laughing, and three of them physically climb onto the bench to hold him down. Tony ruffles their hair, rearranges them so his arms are free, and continues.

“Fine, fine. And who knows why it’s called a piano?”

This stumps them a little, until a quiet one at the back, who Tony hasn’t heard speak before, says, “It’s short for pianoforte.”

The word’s mispronounced, but easily recognizable. “Nicely done. Now, pianoforte means _soft and loud_. And it’s called that because this instrument can make sounds that are both very soft…”

He plays a single note, as gently as he can, and lets the faint hum of it linger in the air, barely perceptible. As one, the kids lean in to hear it better.

Tony lifts his finger and steps on a pedal. “… And very loud.”

He slams his finger onto the same key and _fills_ the hall with the note. The kids scream with joy, barely audible over the piano; one or two actually jump up and down, and the one holding the toddler almost drops her.

“Okay, give me that-” Tony reaches out, letting the note die away, to grab the little one, and settle her on the bench. “Hold on tight, junior, can you do that?”

The toddler burbles a definite but unintelligible answer. All the same, she sits still as if she understood him.

“Good girl. If you fall off I’ll make sure everyone knows it was your own fault. Okay, people, listen up, because we’re skipping the easy stuff and crashing straight into Vivaldi.”

He takes a deep breath, and stares down at the keys for a moment. Of course his mother’s favorites are the ones he still knows without sheet music to follow, which makes this both easier and harder. He hasn’t played often since she died, and not at all since he stood in that bunker in Siberia and _watched_ her die. He has no idea if he’ll make it to the end, but either way this feels right. It’s time.

It’s not exactly proper to start the Four Seasons suite with Summer, but Tony’s always found it a little easier than Spring, and he probably needs a bit of a warmup. But his fingers line up over the opening notes easily, and after the first few chords it’s clear that it might have been a while, but it’s all still there. The next chords are even easier, and once he’s started the music flows unrestrained, note after note, his hands moving almost of their own accord. The soft, slow phrases of the opening movement hang hauntingly in the air, a small bubble of sound just barely surrounding the piano and everyone around it.

The next movement bursts out of him joyously, his fingers flying across the keys, rapid staccato and then the complex progressions. The kids jump back as he nearly hits a couple of them with his elbows, and then cheer. Just barely over the swelling music he hears feet dancing over the floor, and somebody grabs the toddler again so she can join in. Then the opening piece comes back out, soft and light, and the kids stop dancing and lean in to watch him play. One of them works out that inside the piano they can see the hammers hitting the strings to make the notes, and beckons the others to look.

The final movement rises, the most impressive yet, and the kids show no signs of getting bored. Tony keeps on, muscle memory carrying him unerringly forward. The hall is filled with his music now, the vibrancy coursing through his arms and hands and then right back around into the rest of him. Sweat is trickling down his back by the time he finishes with Summer.

But he’s nowhere near done.

He plays the good bits out of Autumn, since he’s never liked the rest of it much, and goes back for the good bits of Spring while he’s at it. The kids come along with him regardless, bouncing around to the bright, energetic phrases and swaying gently to the soft ones. The toddler is somewhere under the piano now, clapping her little hands. Two of the kids are sitting either side of Tony, carefully clear of his range of motion, watching his every move like studious hawks.

Tony finishes with Spring and swings straight on into Winter. Vivaldi clearly wasn’t inspired to evoke the miserable, soul-sucking oppression of a New York winter, but the piece is Tony’s favorite of the suite all the same. He’s above slacking on his performance of the others - except for the bits he straight-up skipped - but he does put a little more flair into Winter. At some point he catches himself humming along and doesn’t bother to stop. The kids are still hanging on every note, hungry for the next. He takes them through the slow middle passages, stretching out the notes to heighten the anticipation, and then pours himself into the cascading waterfall progressions of the final movement.

Winter ends triumphantly and loudly, and Tony puts _everything_ into it until he’s lifted almost out of his own body. When he hits the final chord he’s actually short of breath and his ears are ringing. Eventually he lifts his hands, and his fingers are numb from being slammed onto the keys so many times. Summer plus Winter plus the highlights of Autumn and Spring is at least twenty minutes long, and Tony feels like he’s been running flat out for every one of them. The music echoes through his head, several of the phrases at once on top of each other, almost as loud as the real thing.

Well, he did it. He played.

He played it _well_.

His mother would have been proud.

“Wow,” Tony says softly, and reaches up to swipe the dampness off his cheeks. “It’s been a while since I’ve done _that_.”

“Beautiful,” says a man’s voice softly, and Tony spins around on the bench to see Loki standing behind the kids, leaning against a table as if he’s been there the whole time.

The kids gasp with delight and run over to him, babbling about human Tony and his piano playing, as if Loki can’t see perfectly well for himself what’s going on here. The kids either don’t know, or don’t care, about Loki’s violent fall from grace and subsequent year or two in prison followed up by a hefty dose of identity theft, judging by the comfortable, irreverent way they surround him and shout for his attention. The toddler literally climbs up Loki’s leg to be held. And their faith seems well-placed, because all Loki does is smile patiently and bend down to speak to them, the toddler safely settled on his hip. “Yes, Tony is a very talented human. We’re fortunate he’s agreed to help us build our home.”

The boy sitting next to Tony nudges him with his elbow, and whispers loudly, “You should kiss him now.”

The kids all burst into giggles, so dead silence does _not_ greet this proclamation, but the sudden absence of any rational thought inside Tony’s head makes up for it. He’s long past the days of being embarrassed by anything - or anyone - he does in the bedroom, but he still wasn’t ready to be called out from _this_ quarter.

Judging by the hilariously stunned look on Loki’s face, neither was he. He swallows after a moment and regains his usual composure. “Why is that, Ljosa?”

The boy who spoke earlier stares up at Loki earnestly. “You gave him a compliment. A really nice one! Whenever my parents say something nice about each other, they always kiss afterwards.”

“Yeah, but we’re not… parents,” Tony says. “Why should _we_ kiss each other?”

Not that he’s in any way opposed to kissing Loki at the drop of a hat. But Loki’s not the type to share information for free, or expose potential weaknesses, and Tony is kind of enjoying the way that, for once, who he’s sleeping with isn’t front page news. It’s not a secret as such, but neither of them have exactly been _open_ about their relationship either. So where are these kids getting the idea that their prince and their distinguished guest are even remotely interested in each other?

“Because King Thor says Prince Loki and his friend Tony are disgustingly in love and if they don’t admit it soon, he’s going to pass a law declaring it to be so.”

“Wow, okay,” Tony says. “King Thor needs to stop talking shit.”

The kids giggle again, and the look Loki sends Tony says he’ll be rewarded for that quip as soon as they don’t have an audience.

A girl at the side says, “My mother saw you arrive yesterday and she says you went to visit Prince Loki _before_ you went to see King Thor.”

“My cousin was at the Avengers Compound and he says that both of you were always together.”

Another one shakes his head. “My uncle’s husband says Prince Loki should marry a Norwegian so our alliance with them is stronger.”

“Lord Heimdall says that Prince Loki should do what he wants, since that’s what saved Asgard from Hela in the end.”

“But the Valkyrie says that Prince Loki is just a skinny rack of bones with a knife sticking out of it and not even a human could be blind enough to find him attractive.”

“Does she?” Loki asks, sounding not in the least offended. “Well, the Valkyrie’s going to have her head cut off for treason, then.”

Laughing, the kids shriek in protest and beg him for clemency. The toddler waves her tiny fists in excitement, then latches onto the lapel of Loki’s leather coat and starts chewing it. “Absolutely not,” Loki declares grandly, utterly indifferent. “I’m furious and I’m not going to show her any mercy.”

“I think you’d better, or you’re going to have a revolution on your hands,” Tony says. “Or you could do it as a personal favor to me, since we’re apparently madly in love.” And apparently, this relationship is no longer as private as he thought it was, if what sounds like half the town is gossiping about them.

“Oh, very well,” Loki sighs, incredibly put-upon, to the cheering of the kids. He accepts their adoration with a dramatic, regal wave. The fact he’s still carrying a toddler in the other arm, and said toddler is still gumming on his coat, makes it look only slightly ridiculous. “Yes, yes. Now, don’t you all have better things to be doing than bothering our guest?”

“It’s dangerous to go alone, take this-” Tony hefts the toddler out of Loki’s arm, and returns her to her elder sibling. “Good, off you go.”

The hall seems much emptier after the kids have trooped out, but with Loki remaining, it’s a comfortable kind of empty. Tony shifts over on the piano bench so Loki can fit beside him, their backs to the keys.

Loki sits elegantly. “I believe I was due a kiss in exchange for my compliment.”

“Is that right?”

Loki answers by leaning in, cupping Tony’s jaw gently in one hand, and bringing their lips together. Tony’s eyes fall shut and he hums into the kiss. For a long moment the only things that exist are Loki’s lips against his and Loki’s hand under his chin.

Loki lets him go once he’s done with him, sitting back and smiling smugly when Tony doesn’t find his voice right away. Loki lowers his hand after a breath, and sets it on the bench next to Tony’s, their little fingers brushing.

Tony clears his throat. “I promise I’m still assessing your town’s suitability for renewable energy generation. Just taking a short break and I’ll be back to it.”

Loki waves the notion of working aside. “That’s was Thor’s idea. I don’t care how much of his time you waste. I’m glad you stopped here. I didn’t know you were a musician.”

“Not really. It’s just the piano, my mom taught me when I was a kid. And then she died.” Tony swallows, and while he can get the words out, adds, “She was murdered.”

Loki goes still. His hand shifts to cover Tony’s, and he interlaces their fingers. “So was mine.”

Tony sighs. “Lucky us,” he says, only a little bitterly, meaning the exact opposite.

Loki strokes the side of Tony’s hand with his thumb, and to Tony’s gratitude, changes the subject. “I hope you’ll come back to the hall tonight. The evening meal is usually communal, with some entertainment or other. It preserves just a little of the ways of Asgard-that-was. I think you’d like to see it.”

“If this is where the food is, I’ll be here with bells on.”

“Fair warning, if the people are already talking about us behind our backs, I guarantee they’ll talk more when we’re there in person.”

Well, it’s not the first time Tony’s been the rumor mill’s favorite subject. And he’s always found that the best way to shut down a rumor is to outrun it.

Tony grins. “Sounds like we’d better give them something to talk about.”

Loki grins back.

~

Tony arrives for dinner fashionably late, which is categorically a step up from his usual brand of asshole late. Asshole late lets him spend as little time as possible at events he doesn’t actually want to attend; fashionably late means arriving before food is served, but after most of the other people have turned up, to give him a chance to get the lay of the land.

As expected, what looks like the entire town has packed into the feast hall. Every table is occupied and the whole place is pleasantly crowded, some happy medium between a restaurant and a hopping bar. The mood is cheerful and festive; chatter and laughter wrapped around Tony as soon as he stepped inside, and the further he goes the louder it gets. While the hall didn’t really feel empty this morning, when it was just him and the kids, it’s sure a lot more full now.

Heads turn to follow him as he makes his way towards the high table, and the whispers aren’t far behind. From the few distinct words Tony overhears, he’s known by three titles: _Thor’s friend who is helping build our town_ , _the Avenger who hosted us at the Compound,_ and _Loki’s paramour_. Always refreshing to be the center of attention for _fun_ reasons.

The high table itself belongs to Thor and a dozen of his closest friends. It’s slightly bigger than the others, and set on a dais a little above the floor. It gives a great view of the rest of the hall, and perhaps more importantly, gives the hall a great view of the table. _Your king is right here, all is well._

Thor is already seated, but he stands when Tony approaches and throws his arms wide in greeting. “Finally! I was worried you weren’t coming!”

Tony steps into the hug and slaps Thor on the back; it’s like giving a high five to a leather-clad cliff face. “You’re having a party, I wouldn’t miss it!”

“Well, sit down and get a drink.” Thor waves a hand at the benches lining the table, just vaguely enough that it’s an invitation to sit next to him, but without Tony looking rude if he chose to sit somewhere else.

On Thor’s other side, Loki is rocking his personal blend of princely and casual. His hair is braided back in a complicated style Tony hasn’t seen before, like a slightly more masculine Daenerys Targaryen. The rest of Loki is dressed down for the evening, a sleeveless leather coat over a soft gray shirt, open at the neck to reveal a rare piece of jewelry, a gold torc resting in the hollow of his throat. In one hand he’s holding a stemless wineglass full of a deep, rich red, and it’s stained his lips just the faintest shade darker than usual. His nails are painted a gorgeous, dark green that matches his eyes with devastating effect; Loki’s eyes meet Tony’s and don’t look away again, alight with anticipation. Tony wants to eat him whole.

“Thanks, big guy,” Tony says to Thor. “I know exactly where I wanna be.”

He circumnavigates Thor to drop onto the bench beside Loki, and nice and slowly, takes Loki’s free hand in his and raises it to his lips.

And it turns out that the hall has a _very_ good view of what goes on at the high table.

The news spreads like wildfire until just about every head in the room is turned their way, and the whispers practically lift the roof off. Tony glances sideways and spots some of the kids he met today in the crowd, beaming and chattering excitedly to their friends. Loki’s smiling like the cat that got the cream, the custard _and_ the candy. Behind Loki, Thor laughs loudly, and punches the Valkyrie in the arm, bellowing, “I told you so!” Meanwhile, Val looks like she wants to throw her drink at one of them, and just can’t decide on her target. Somebody lost a bet.

Tony finally releases Loki’s hand; Loki uses it immediately to pour Tony a glass of the same wine he’s drinking. Tony can’t remember ever telling Loki about his not-being-handed-things quirk, but before he gets a chance to Loki pushes the glass across the table for him anyway.

 _I’m gonna do it,_ Tony realizes, picking up his wine and taking a sip. _I’m gonna keep him forever._

He’s _wanted_ to do that for weeks; as of right now, it feels like it’s actually possible.

Then Thor slaps Loki on the back and nearly knocks him face-first into the table. “Careful, brother! Keep staring at him like that and your eyes will freeze that way.”

“A fate I would rather face than hear your comments on the matter,” Loki says acidly, and grabs a cloth napkin to mop up the wine Thor made him spill. “Now, do you mean for us to starve to death or are you calling for food sometime before dawn?”

Thor gives a big, hearty laugh. “ _Let us eat!_ ” he roars, and the hall cheers.

The meal is communal in the most literal sense of the word, with every family pulling out a basket or cooler to share in some kind of giant potluck. A minute later, everyone’s out of their seats and wandering the hall to load up their plates. There’s just enough formality left in Asgard’s royalty that the high table gets wait service, with a few uniformed staff bringing up a little bit of everything.

Loki fills Tony’s plate himself, making the whispers rise even louder. Tony ends up with so much food he can’t even see the plate anymore: grilled fish, roast vegetables, bread, sauce and a huge slice of berry pie, since waiting for dessert is apparently for other people.

The first bite of fish flakes apart and melts in Tony’s mouth, with a light but layered flavor of citrus and herbs. It hits his gnawingly empty stomach and he suddenly remembers that between the piano playing and the surveying, he not only skipped lunch, but also breakfast. The second bite goes down much faster than the first.

Tony’s mother would have been proud of his music this morning; she would _not_ have been proud of the way he eats tonight. He clears his plate three times in quick succession, Loki refilling it every time he’s in danger of running out of food. Everything tastes _fantastic_ , and that’s coming from a guy with multiple Michelin-star chefs on his payroll, somewhere. Definitely not what one would expect when looking at the sleepy little rural village that Asgard has become - but Loki did say they were trying to keep up their old ways.

Tony takes shameless advantage, and just barely runs out of stomach before he runs out of pie, letting Loki steal the last mouthful off his plate. That gets them another round of adoring whispers, and Tony grins smugly to himself. Mission accomplished.

One by one, other forks get laid down throughout the hall as people finish eating. Even Thor’s slowed his pace, after five jugs of mead and what looked to be an entire cow.

“Oi, Lackey,” Val calls, leaning past Thor to throw a plum at Loki. Effortlessly, he catches it without looking up.

Val is unfazed. “Liven the place up before I fall asleep, huh?”

Loki takes a bite of the plum before he answers. “Far be it from me to disturb your rest, my lady.”

“Fine. Liven the place up before I start a fight that you _will_ lose in front of your new boyfriend.”

Loki’s lips thin ever so slightly and he inhales sharply, apparently needled. Before he can get too petulant, Tony takes his hand and, under the table, runs a foot up Loki’s calf.

“I’ve seen you fight,” Tony murmurs. “Why don’t you show me what else you can do?”

Loki glances down at Tony’s hand on his, and arches a pointed eyebrow. “I suppose you think that you’re being terribly subtle?”

“Fuck that,” Tony says. “I know I’m as subtle as a box full of Thors. I’m just thinking that as long as I ask nicely, you’ll do anything I want.”

“An intriguing theory. But you already know I expect to be well rewarded for such favors.”

“By my count, _you_ owe _me_ one for the concert this morning.”

“Well then-”

Tony barely sees the streak of purple before Loki snatches it out of the air; another plum, headed directly for Tony’s face. “Enough with the heart eyes, you two!” Val shouts. “Either get up and tell some tales or don’t, but make up your Norns-damned minds.”

“You’re a despicable creature and I don’t know why my brother tolerates you at his hand,” Loki says levelly, but rises from the bench anyway. “Then again, with Lady Sif still missing and Jane Foster no longer in the picture, I suppose you’re the only girl he knows.”

Tony immediately resolves that Natasha and Pepper will never find out Loki said that.

Val narrows her eyes at Loki, but can’t throw a well-deserved punch with Thor sitting between them and smiling indulgently at their banter. “If you were any closer, you’d be sorry.”

“And if you were any more sober, you wouldn’t need _me_ to entertain you.”

With that parting shot, Loki turns to face the hall and raises his hands for quiet; miraculously, he gets it almost immediately. Tony adds that to his mental list of Loki’s superpowers. “The Valkyrie has asked for a tale,” Loki calls. “What will you hear?”

People shout out suggestions for Loki’s consideration - Igrun and the axe, the battle of Half Ford, Aigel the dancer - and Tony doesn’t recognize any of them, of course. He also doesn’t know why the siege of Tennin makes Loki hum and say, “That’s a good one.” But having made his choice, the hall falls silent again and waits eagerly for him to start.

Loki takes a sip of wine, then folds his hands behind his back and lifts his chin. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, stretching out the silence and letting the anticipation hang. Tony watches with probably too much fascination as Loki’s tongue flickers over his lips, and he begins. “ _Ad fas alva yts arar kullu, hnigu meilok skotn…_ ”

Tony listens a little longer to be sure that Loki’s definitely not speaking English anymore, but the Asgardian Google Translate doesn’t kick back in as he continues. But the fact that Tony’s not following the story makes the _telling_ of it all the more entrancing, because he’s not thinking about the plot or the characters.

Tony’s caught up in the rich, deep tones of Loki’s voice pouring out the otherworldly, ancient sounds of the language itself. He’s feeling rather than picturing a wild landscape of mountains and valleys lined with fog, and a sudden urge to pick up a broadsword and start swinging it at his enemies. He’s hearing the rhythm of the poetry like tangible beats of a drum, pounding in his chest as strong as his own pulse. He doesn’t have to understand the words to know they’re both beautiful and powerful, and he can see from the spellbound faces of the crowd that the rest of Loki’s audience is wrapped up in it just as strongly.

Then all the lights in the room go dim, and from nowhere Tony feels a breeze sweep across him, tinged with the scent of trees and fresh snow. The children in the hall gasp with delight, and Tony sees the hint of a self-satisfied smile on Loki’s lips.

“ _Snoru af afli orlogthottu, thaer brogir braut…_ ”

The room darkens further as Loki’s tone turns menacing. As if in the distance, Tony hears faint howls of wolves and the crackling of fire. Behind his back, Loki’s hands are twitching as he summons more magic to weave the story’s atmosphere. The little light left in the room turns green and purple, and forms into a shimmering ribbon above their heads - an aurora pierced with stars hanging there below the ceiling, and simultaneously capturing the vastness of the sky. The light gilds the edges of Loki’s braids.

The poem goes on. After a few more passages Tony starts to hear patterns: rhymes and alliteration, a unique meter that changes for every line in a stanza. Then he starts to hear just how _complex_ those patterns are. The rhymes aren’t always at the ends of lines, but sometimes in the middle - even in the middles of _words_. The alliteration is the same, jumping around syllables within a single line and across multiple lines. And that changing meter? The next stanza carries the same meter _backwards_.

Yet more patterns emerge the longer Loki recites, and Tony realizes that it’s an art form. It’s full of structures and rules, and it’s insanely complicated on _purpose_. People who live for five thousand years would have to invent _some_ way of passing all that time, and just telling stories isn’t enough; they have to tell them on hard mode. How long did it take Loki to learn this one? He’s several minutes in and showing no sign of slowing down. Not that Tony would recognize a sign if he saw it.

“ _Haki, angantyr! Vrek skik hervor, yttr tofa!_ ”

The light in the room dims further, flickering like fire, and, still faint, there’s the sound of fighting, weapons clanging together and the heavy rattling of armor. The aurora transforms into a giant wolf made of light, snarling and snapping its jaws before leaping into the rafters and disappearing through the roof.

“ _Krjupum ver fyr vapna, falteigs vrogun hegi…_ ”

Tony looks out at the crowd again, and it’s just a sea of eyes all fixed on Loki. They’re gazing, completely enraptured, hanging on each and every word. There’s no doubt that Loki is commanding their attention utterly - Tony even sees one guy in the corner hastily writing the poem down.

Which is… odd. People literally asked Loki for particular stories, even Tony knows what this one is called - why is this guy acting like it’s brand new? He’s writing in a hurry, like it’s important, making sure he gets every word on the page. But surely, compellingly as Loki tells it, they’ve heard this story before?

Then it clicks, and Tony is hit with the _full_ force of Loki’s brilliance.

They’ve heard the story. They haven’t heard the _poem_.

Loki’s not reciting the verses with their incredibly complex structures and sequences. He’s _improvising_ them.

“ _Gatt baf mik, thars moettusk, menskorth bera forthum…_ ”

Tony scans the faces in the crowd more closely, and - as usual - he’s dead right. They’re listening with almost ferocious intensity as Loki crafts the words, but nobody looks surprised by a plot twist or shocked at anything unexpected; instead, they’re nodding along, expressions turning impressed at particularly clever turns of phrase.

And they should be impressed. Loki never stumbles, never falters, never goes back to redo a line better. Tony had to use logic to work out what Loki’s doing, because it doesn’t show in the slightest. His voice is steady, still filling the hall completely with the ringing, lilting stanzas and meeting every one of those patterns Tony identified.

Intellectually, Tony _knows_ Loki’s a prince; he’s heard the title and read the treaties - he’s even seen Loki throw his weight around and Asgard’s citizenry jump to obey him. But this is something else, this is _majestic_. Loki sounds like a Viking chieftain declaiming the deeds of a glorious battle so that his warriors already want to charge off and start the next one. In this moment Tony thinks the ancients were onto something when they said that yes, this being was a god.

The poem seems to rise to a climax, the aurora returning even brighter and a growing thread of stirring music underlying Loki’s words. The excitement is reflected on the faces in the crowd as Loki launches the lines into the air.

“ _Vafdi litt er virdum maetti, vigraekiandi frem at saekia!_ ”

The music finishes with a triumphant bass chord, and only now does Tony recognize the melody - Loki’s lifted the very end of Vivaldi’s Winter from Tony’s piece this morning.

The hall’s lights soften back to normal and the scented breeze dies away before Tony realizes that Loki’s stopped. His head’s still full of Loki’s voice and the images he created, no idea what the _story_ was about, but a profound impression of the _world_ it took place in. Tony glances at his watch and is not prepared at all to see it’s been half an hour; Loki had them all wrapped up so tightly Tony completely lost track of the passage of time.

The audience seems to wake up from the lull at the same instant, and the sudden _crash_ of applause almost shocks Tony out of his skin. People are cheering, laughing, crying, shouting their glee, and Loki stands there taking it all in, head tilted back just a little as he basks in their adoration.

Tony starts clapping along, loud enough his hands hurt. _That’s my peacock._

Loki lets the crowd keep going until they start winding down on their own, and then he inclines his head low and gracefully in acknowledgement. He picks up his wineglass from the table again, and salutes the room with it. “Asgard!”

They raise their glasses in return; Tony copies them in a hurry, and joins in when every voice bellows, “ _LOKI!_ ”

Someone in the crowd shouts for another tale, and a few more people pick it up before Loki stops them with a raised hand. “You’ll forgive me for needing rest,” he says, shaking his head. “That was a long poem.”

The crowd just applauds again as if reminded how good it was, and Loki waves to them before stepping back from the table, heading for a door in the corner.

Tony waits in his seat for as long as possible, letting conversations start back up and the attention drift away from the high table, before he slips out after Loki.

Because it’s a well-established pattern with them that a display of serious skill like that is a huge turn-on, and Tony has no intention of letting this one go to waste.

Tony finds Loki literally behind the door when he reaches out and grabs Tony by the shirt, reeling him in. “You took your time.”

“Wanted to leave with a little dignity,” Tony says, taking the hint and crowding Loki back against the wall. Loki goes easily, smiling his usual smug smile when he pulls Tony’s strings.

“Is fucking in this hallway too undignified for you, then?”

“After a show like that, I think I can make an exception.”

“Oh, you liked it?” Loki says coyly, as if he didn’t notice Tony clapping up a storm right next to him. “You don’t even know what I was saying.”

“Yeah, but I liked how it sounded. And how you looked. And how it made everybody lose their goddamn minds.”

Loki smiles sharply. “True poetry is rare. True poets rarer, even before Asgard was lost. They know what I’m worth.”

And yet, Loki didn’t choose any of them to stand here with their chest pressed to his and their hands slipping down the back of his pants. That’s an honor solely reserved for Tony.

Tony takes full advantage and gropes Loki’s entire ass shamelessly, making room somehow between Loki and the wall. Loki’s all lean muscle and his ass is firm and toned, filling Tony’s hands beautifully. Loki grins at Tony before kissing him hungrily, like they didn’t just devour a twelve-course dinner.

“I liked your music, too,” Loki murmurs when they stop for air. “I want to hear it again.”

“Sex first,” Tony says, and ducks his head to run his tongue up Loki’s neck. “Music later.”

Loki’s got the right idea, it _is_ nice to be appreciated, but Tony has more urgent things on his mind just now.

He shifts his weight to slot their hips together and grinds his cock against Loki’s. That strikes sparks, and Tony has every intention of fanning them into flames.

Loki does too, because he grabs Tony’s ass and pulls him even closer, controlling the speed they move at - hard and fast, and it suits Tony perfectly. The small, almost fierce movements build pressure in his cock, all throbbing pulse and a growing need for more, but too desperate to stop what they’re doing right now. Tony frees a hand to wrap around the back of Loki’s neck and pull him in for another kiss, even more dizzying than the first. Loki’s tongue is in Tony’s mouth and his hands are squeezing Tony’s ass through his jeans, his cock feels like it wants to catch fire in the best possible way, and-

“Oh, come _on!_ ” a voice shouts, and suddenly the side of Tony’s face is drenched in something that smells and tastes like paint thinner. Tony breaks away from Loki, spluttering unattractively and trying to get the liquid out of his eyes, and what the _fuck_ just happened?

“Valkyrie,” Loki says coldly, and Tony comes up with a pretty good guess for what just happened. “Your timing is, as always, appalling.”

“You two are the ones halfway to fucking in public,” Val says. Tony looks up to see her standing in the doorway with her arms folded, empty cup dangling from one hand, and reconsiders his first estimate of what hit them. Whatever she was drinking was _way_ more dangerous than paint thinner.

He glances over to Loki, whose face is equally as soaked as Tony’s, half of his hair dripping and one of the braids coming loose. His eyes are hard and angry enough to kill a lesser person, but Val remains stubbornly immune.

“This was perfectly private until you showed up,” Loki says, when Val fails to spontaneously combust under his glare.

She shrugs, unmoved. “And now it’s not. Get a room.”

Loki exhales a breath of forced calm, and wraps damp fingers around Tony’s wrist. “If you insist.”

A flare of Loki’s teleportation magic blinds Tony momentarily, and just like that they’re somewhere else, Tony flat on his back on a firm mattress, Loki straddling his thighs and towering over him.

It’s definitely not Loki’s bed - Tony slept there last night and it was way more comfortable - so before giving all his attention to Loki, Tony takes a quick look around.

Wooden walls, low ceiling, brightly woven rugs over the floor, a real fire burning cheerfully in a stone fireplace - typical Norwegian-cross-Asgardian cottage. Outside the windows it’s full dark, and Tony can just see a few bright lights of other buildings. But what isn’t typical about this place is the way all the available space in the room - the _bedroom_ \- is filled with either weapons or liquor bottles in every shape and size.

_Uh-oh._

Tony has a bad feeling about this.

“Loki…”

“Mmm?” Loki doesn’t look up from where he’s unzipping Tony’s jeans.

“We’re not in Val’s house, are we?”

Loki lifts Tony’s hips with one hand, tugging his jeans and underwear down with the other. “She wanted us to get a room. I did.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I’m the God of Mischief, Tony,” Loki says. He grins sharply. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

“I’m gonna die,” Tony says in realization, staring at the ceiling. “She’s gonna come home and completely obliterate me on the spot, I know it.”

“I’d like to think I would do a better job of defending you than _that_ ,” Loki says, and tugs at Tony’s jeans again. Tony pulls his legs up to help, but apparently it’s not enough to save Loki’s limited store of patience.

A snap of Loki’s fingers and they’re both stark naked.

“Better,” Loki says, and leans down to bite at Tony’s thigh. Tony hisses at the electric spike of pain, body lighting up in response, and Loki smirks at him before crawling a pace up the bed to suck Tony’s cock.

Tony forgets all about his impending death in favor of grabbing a handful of Loki’s braids and holding him in place. Loki’s mouth is fucking _divine_ , and his cock-sucking skills are exactly as good as they should be after a thousand years of experience. If Tony does die for this, it’ll be worth it.

Loki’s restless tonight, only giving Tony’s cock a few of those long, soul-shattering sucks before pulling away and moving on. His tongue dips into Tony’s navel, then his teeth tug at a nipple, and then he’s lying on top of Tony and kissing him breathless.

It doesn’t take long for Tony’s head to be spinning as he pushes back into the kiss. He’s got both arms around Loki’s shoulders now, holding him in place until Tony’s done with him. Loki’s hands touch every bit of Tony they can reach, running down his neck, then his sides, then palming a thigh, fingertips digging in. Tony hooks that leg over Loki’s hip and grinds their cocks together, only now noticing that they’re both achingly hard.

Judging by the gasp Loki lets out as he breaks away from Tony’s mouth, he’s noticed it too. Loki rolls his hips, driving into Tony with laser-like focus, everything concentrated on getting as much as possible out of this moment.

“I want your hand,” Loki breathes over Tony’s lips. “Musician.”

Yes, fair enough, Tony is fully on board with this, as long as- “Then I want your mouth. _Poet_.”

Loki grins. “Deal.”

Fluid and elegant, Loki swings himself around so his head’s down by Tony’s hips while leaving his cock within Tony’s reach. Tony doesn’t hesitate a moment before upholding his end of the bargain, wrapping his fingers around Loki’s cock and giving a gentle squeeze. It throbs in his hand, already slicked by magic - Loki really _is_ out of patience. Loki’s pulse is hard and racing, and even after months of this Tony’s still blown away about how he can personally _ruin_ a thousand-year-old Norse god with little more than just being himself.

Then Loki puts his mouth back on Tony’s cock and Tony almost forgets about what he’s supposed to be doing. Tony’s body arches up into Loki’s touch by pure instinct, no higher brain functions necessary, which is good because Tony’s fresh out of those. The world spirals down to nothing but the swirl of Loki’s tongue around Tony’s cock and the hard velvet length of Loki’s cock in Tony’s hand.

They find the rhythm quickly, they’re good at this by now, and it’s easy when Tony can feel every single thing he’s doing to Loki. Squeezing his cock makes him gasp around Tony, stroking it makes Loki suck harder in return, and sliding a hand down to Loki’s balls makes him shudder head to toe. And after that it’s just a perpetual feedback loop, winding tighter and tighter and higher and higher, until Tony feels close to blacking out.

But that’s no excuse to let up.

Tony could step it up a level and really go for broke, but after that massive dinner and excellent wine he’s in the mood for something more indulgent. Instead he focuses on enjoying every movement, every brush of Loki’s lips or stroke of his tongue, every inch of Loki’s cool skin, every time his heart pounds. It’s so much, so good, and Tony draws it out, nice and steady, making it last.

Which would work beautifully if Loki didn’t have other plans.

Because while Tony’s over here living in the moment, Loki changes gears like he’s racing the clock. Now he’s sucking Tony’s cock with _intent_ , determined to make him come in a hurry. And while it’s not what Tony had in mind, it feels way too good to complain, and he abandons his first plan without a moment of regret. Now that it’s a competition, he’s not letting Loki win unopposed, and that means redoubling his efforts on the cock in his hand.

Tony glances down at Loki to see the effects, and is briefly stunned by the sight. Loki’s lips are stretched wide around Tony’s cock, his cheeks hollowed, his eyelids fluttering. His braids have finally given up the fight, hair sliding loose to fall across his ear and down his neck. Loki’s hand is just resting on Tony’s thigh, Tony didn’t even notice it until now, Loki’s other arm effortlessly holding him braced over Tony’s hips.

Tony licks his lips at how damn good Loki looks, and realizes that just because Loki’s mouth is occupied, doesn’t mean that _Tony’s_ is, and that’s a weapon he needs to deploy sooner rather than later.

“You look so good down there,” he starts, “how the hell did I get this lucky? Every single human on the planet and you come to me - guess you’ve just got good taste.”

Loki huffs a laugh around Tony’s cock, and looks up at him with an amused flick of his eyes that says he knows exactly what Tony’s up to. Tony grins back, and ups the ante.

“Loki Silvertongue, god of cocksucking,” Tony gasps, lungs stubbornly refusing to take in enough air while Loki’s doing _that_ with his mouth. “Tries to conquer three planets and ends up here conquering _me_.”

Probably prompted by the word _conquering_ , Loki slides that free hand from Tony’s thigh up his chest, and wraps it snugly around Tony’s neck. Not a threat or an order to shut up, not yet, but just reminding Tony that Loki thinks he’s in charge here.

“Feels so good,” Tony goes on, relentless. He can feel his throat moving under Loki’s hand. “Love the way you feel, could stay here goddamn forever.” He strokes Loki’s cock, nice and firm root to tip and back again, and watches as clear precome drips from the slit. Tony catches it on his fingertips, and holds his hand up so Loki can see him suck them clean.

Loki moans around Tony’s cock, his hand on Tony’s neck goes tense, and his hips twitch helplessly. Tony grins at how close, how _desperate_ , Loki is, and finally starts jerking him off in earnest. No more teasing, no more posturing, just trying to make him come.

But Loki finishes Tony off first.

Loki’s _really_ good at sucking cock, and he pulls Tony over the edge effortlessly. Tony’s simply _there_ in one second, and in the next he’s freefalling with what is almost certainly a shout of Loki’s name.

The release settles soothingly into Tony’s body like a weighted blanket, and he just lets it settle as much as it likes. He’s left sprawled across the bed, sated and boneless. “So good,” he sighs out, and peels his eyes open to find Loki.

Who is balanced right above him, one hand either side of Tony’s head, smirking and very much still hard. “There you are,” Loki says, voice amused and teasing. “Are you going to finish what you started?”

“I dunno, am I?”

“Yes,” Loki declares, and crawls a pace up the bed to bring his cock nicely into Tony’s reach. It’s an offer Tony can’t refuse.

He strokes Loki with the long, firm pulls he likes best, watching as he falls apart step by step. His eyes close, lashes fluttering, his mouth opens as his breathing turns heavy, his shoulders start to tremble with the effort of holding himself steady. Tony takes in every twitch, every gasp, every spurt of precome over his fingers, and commits them all to memory without even trying.

Loki’s body tenses in the instant before he comes, striping Tony’s stomach. Tony grins satisfaction as Loki’s expression softens, features going slack and composure falling away. While it would be hilarious to watch him collapse to the bed on his own, Tony takes pity and guides Loki down safely so he can’t land on Tony’s face.

Tony grabs a pillow to shove under his head, and watches Loki slowly regain his alertness. Loki blinks a few times before he seems to wake back up, and meets Tony’s eyes.

“This was fun,” he says, with an odd tone that Tony can’t put his finger on. Loki’s usually a pretty odd guy, but this time Tony’s not sure what he’s up to-

Tony jumps about a mile as the bedroom door opens and a very angry female voice shouts, “You’ve got to be _kidding me!_ ”

Tony shrieks as he scrambles to avoid incoming death at the hands of Asgard’s last Valkyrie, and Loki laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever done. Just before Tony gets slaughtered in Val’s righteous fury, Loki grabs him by the wrist and teleports them both somewhere else, preferably in the Southern hemisphere.

A second later, they’re not in the Southern hemisphere - only Loki’s own house, just up the road - but it’s comfy and _probably_ Valkyrie-proof, so Tony lets it slide. They’re lying in the exact same positions as before, just in Loki’s bed instead of Val’s, Tony’s heart is still racing and Loki’s chuckling like he’s pulled off something brilliant.

“Not funny,” Tony complains, smacking him in the shoulder. “I _told_ you she was going to kill me! _On the spot_ , you absolute-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki says, capturing Tony’s hand and kissing his knuckles. It doesn’t soothe Tony in the slightest. At all. “She definitely would have stopped to kill me first.”

“Aaagh.” Tony gives a dramatic shudder, and lets Loki nuzzle his hand a bit more. “You need more friends who _don’t_ want to kill you.”

“That does seem to be the only kind I have,” Loki muses. “I wonder why they all feel that way?”

Tony snorts, and Loki grins evilly at him. It’s spoiled by his absolutely fucked-up sex hair, the braids completely destroyed and the faceful of Val’s drink earlier not helping either.

And nope, Tony can’t look at that hair one minute longer. “You’re a mess,” he declares, reaching up and tugging on a bent curl. “Lemme fix that.”

Loki sits up cooperatively and Tony kneels behind him, running fingers through Loki’s hair until it’s smooth. And since he’s started, he might as well continue; on impulse, Tony collects some strands at Loki’s temple, separates them into four, and sets to work replacing the braids.

Loki hums softly as Tony progresses, enjoying the feeling. Which is good, because Tony doubts Loki will be satisfied with the end result - it might be his best effort, but it’s not exactly up to the standards of what Loki was wearing at dinner.

“Where did you learn to braid hair?” Loki asks.

“I didn’t. But I do know how to braid cables to reduce electromagnetic interference.”

Loki laughs. “Ever the engineer.”

“There is nothing worse than detecting a signal and then finding out it came from your signal-detecting equipment,” Tony lectures. “I almost quit my first Ph.D over that happening.”

“Almost?”

Tony shrugs, tucks the ends of the braid back into themselves in lieu of tying it off, and starts another one. “Didn’t want to go back home and admit I’d failed, so I picked myself up and started again. Ended up being my third-favorite Ph.D, so it worked out.”

“Would going home have been so bad? Your mother would have welcomed her piano student, surely.”

“She wasn’t the problem,” Tony says. The note of melancholy rises in his chest, and then he lets it out. “That was all dear old Dad.”

“Ah,” Loki says, a wealth of agreement in the word. Tony knows a little about Loki’s father, mostly from Thor’s point of view, but enough to recognize that his particular flavor of parental bastardry probably had Howard’s beat.

“Yeah.” The second braid comes out smoother and neater than the first, which is nice. Tony moves on to a third, on the other side of Loki’s head. “How about you, I don’t suppose your mother taught you the poetry, just to really play up the thematic parallels here?”

“Odin, actually,” Loki says. He gives a soft huff that Tony has no trouble recognizing: pleasant surprise at encountering a _good_ memory of his distant, dreadful father. “It was the only skill he ever admitted I was better at than Thor. Poor Thor has hated all forms of poetry ever since.”

“So let me guess, you do it as often as possible just for the sake of annoying him?”

Loki half-turns to face Tony and quirks a smile up at him. “Remind me to tell you about my play sometime.”

“Poet _and_ playwright? Look at you, Shakespeare in love,” Tony says, and-

And has about a second of panic once his brain catches up with what his mouth is saying, and realizes that he _desperately_ wants that, but has no idea if Loki actually feels that way, and-

And Loki smirks shamelessly and arches up to kiss Tony, like there’s nothing going on here at all, like it’s not even a significant moment, like Tony’s stupid for not knowing how Loki feels. Tony’s heart flutters in his chest before settling, just a bit. He puts his hand on Loki’s shoulder and kisses him back.

They break apart slowly, and Tony scrambles for something to say before landing on, “How did I do with your hair?”

Loki reaches up to feel for himself. Tony’s done four French braids, two down each side of Loki’s head, leaving the hair in the middle to flow freely over his crown and down his neck. Loki tugs carefully at the braids to test them and flicks his fingers through the fall of hair between them.

“Neat for a first attempt,” Loki says eventually. “Practice a little more, and I will be proud to wear them openly.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“If you thought the people gossiped because we sat together at dinner, that will be _nothing_ to seeing me wear your braidwork. They’ll probably think we intend to marry.”

Tony’s brain whites out for a long moment. And he was nervous about saying the word _love_ _…_ “We don’t, right? I mean - never say never, but - not yet, I assume, it’s…”

“Not yet,” Loki agrees, mercifully cutting off Tony’s babbling. “But the thought is… not unpleasant, is it?”

Tony’s always been good at knowing what he wants, and even better at having it. Just like his entire relationship with Loki has always gone, it’s not even a question. “Not unpleasant at all.”

Loki smiles. “I’ve had some thoughts about your woefully inadequate-”

“Hey!”

“- _lifespan_ ,” Loki adds, and Tony winces.

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Loki arches one of those devastatingly expressive eyebrows, _you think?_ “I’ll probably have to loot the ruins of Old Asgard to do anything about it, but I should be able to… buy us more time. If you wanted it.”

“Lucky us,” Tony says, mind churning. He tries to sort through the logistics of getting away with an Asgardian lifespan while in the public eye, of his company and his friends and the shocking state his body is in to begin with, and then it all slips out of focus. It’ll be there when he’s ready to pick it up again, but for now…

For now, Tony wraps himself around Loki from behind, and tucks his head into the curve of Loki’s shoulder. Loki reaches up and lays his hands gently on Tony’s wrists, a pleasant weight holding him in place, and leans his head against Tony’s.

Tony kisses the cool sweep of Loki’s skin. “Lucky us, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> It is actually true that putting electrical cables into a four-stranded braid will reduce their electromagnetic interference. I went to university for this.
> 
> Loki's poem is lifted from fragments of several different Viking-era poems, then mixed up a little to avoid sounding like any particular language today. Poetry of the Viking period really was improvised as a show of skill, with more complex structures and styles being considered more impressive.
> 
> Thanks as always to my first readers, [Haldane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/) and [Apples](https://appleslostherpassword.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://ao3-arkada.tumblr.com/).


End file.
